


Only Angel

by mixedwithintellect



Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: F/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Tumblr Prompt, based on a prompt, it's all about the song, kinda smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 00:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15852366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedwithintellect/pseuds/mixedwithintellect
Summary: the one where Harry believes in an angel, and she'll be his ruiningOR:prompt: Please put your penis away, dear, it’s morning.





	Only Angel

At the end of the week, he regularly met up with her for confession. It felt dirty, it always did, when he opened the hotel door and she was chewing on her thumb nail, flashing a nervous smile before darting under his arm. The art of being unseen in his life was a miracle in itself, yet she had managed to fly under the radar for this long.

And in a dress like _that_ , he thought as he closed the door, it was definitely a fucking mystery.

She held onto his closest secrets, onto the parts of his life unveiled in mumbles between bitten lips, onto his hair as he devotedly finished praying. She consistently tried to claim that she would behave, did every time, but somehow she never resisted his eyes when they gleamed like a madman, when his low, rumbling voice felt like rough velvet across her chest. When it felt like the Devil himself was dressed impeccably by her feet, working his jaw to carefully bite her underwear and drag it down her thighs, before showing just how wonderful of a vice ‘greed’ could be.

“Fuck...” It was quiet, an afterthought in the exposition of his thumbs pressing into her hips and the obscene growling coming from his lips against her.

“Wha’ was that, love?” he removed away, placing his cheek gently on her inner thigh as he looked at her expectantly. His eyes flashed with curiosity, lips swollen and moist, parted with wonder, never quite getting used to her unraveling for him. Shame he couldn’t properly get in, how he liked to, _and_ watch her at the same time.

“Fuck, I said fuck, now please, please go back-fuck.”

“Tell me you need me,” he blinked, shifting his arm up to fold his fingers around her hand, lodging it firmly against the roots of his scalp. Her fingers, not grasping the concept, swirled against the locks before understanding he wanted her to pull.

“Oh my _God,_ need you, need you, need you _closer_ -” she rambled, pulling and moaning, clenching and sighing, trying to get him to move.

“Name’s Harry, love,” he mumbled, before getting back to reciting the only verses he knew (they may not be any John 3:16s, but she seemed pretty pleased with them, so he didn’t give a damn).

\---------------------------------------------------

His eyes opened slowly, fatigue wrestling with his body until it came to terms with the daylight. His muscles still groaned as he began shifting, attempting to find a comfortable position on the large bed so he could get in a few more minutes of sleep – but his arms were a bit preoccupied to be bothered with moving.

It took him a genuine moment to register how his arms were wrapped, that they were around a body. He hadn’t slept with anyone in a while, and in his foggy state of mind he briefly panicked at whose back was resting against his chest, whose toes were tucked between his legs. One glimpse of her hair, though, and he realized he recognized the warmth coming from your body as a sensual home for his weary soul.

Harry paused.

Not really his _home_ , but maybe a paradise from everything that stifled his breathing and kept him from living.

She was a proper treasure, if he ever knew one. Her curves were warm and sweet; gliding his palms along them felt like when he’s on a sandy beach, listening to the waves and feeling the beat of the sun.

Her eyes were inherently soft, a muted kindness and impermeable innocence planted in its aura. It refused to move an inch, no matter how hard he had tried to wreck her, ruin her dresses and makeup and hair, she would always look _just_ as surprised when he began. Just as angelic when he finished.

Her halo was a facade of sorts, her lips tasted of berries but never spoke of their sweetness. Isn’t that how it went? He had thought her glow to be attributed to the same reason his heart beat faster when he opened the door, not that it was simply how she existed, _somehow_ , in the world.

Harry hadn’t actually told her, how he felt, but he had suspicions she had read between the lines. How he found himself consistently wrapped in her threads of grace, how he would fight through hell to make it to her bedside. She had given in to his charm well enough, accepting the bundles of roses he would bring when he visited, and appreciating him asking about her family before they began undressing each other.

(He was _trying_ to be a gentleman before ruining another pair of her sheets again, it was only the nice thing to do).

Knowing she would never love him was odd, when he could still taste her within the mouthy feel of Morning. There was nothing he could do, though, he was so engrossed by the Eve sprawled on his sheets to even be bothered about reciprocity.

Temptation couldn’t begin to describe how it felt when he saw her, out in public, longing to wrap his arm around her shoulders in a way that exceeded platonic by miles. How her core became his apple within the metaphor of sin, purple marks littering the expanse on her legs.

Harry successfully moved his arms from their clutch against her hips, managed to detangle his legs from hers. The kitchen was a short walk away from the hotel bed, a plastic tray set on the counter by the maid-service holding what he needed. As he started pouring water into the coffeepot, he sleepily realized he had automatically grabbed two cups, without much thought.

It felt nice, two cups.

Five minutes later, when he had the coffee set up and going, Harry went back towards the bedroom. She had spread her legs out in her sleep, as if searching for him in her dreams. A small frown lingered against her lips; it was one of the few times Harry could look without her blushing something rosy.

He knelt by her side of the mattress, brushing the backs of his fingers against her cheek. She grunted and tried to bat his hand away, her hand getting caught in the bundle of sheets she had clutched as his substitute.

“C’mon, angel, time to get up. Made coffee, yeah?” his voice was cracking, broken with sleep.

She woke up for that, only blearily remembering the night before (as he did, he could see it flash in her eyes and her cheeks, yeah, those started warming up). Pursing her lips, she nodded and reached up to pat down her bed-head, her arms stretching outwards.

Harry realized he was staring, carefully watching the corners of her mouth and the soft darkness under her eyes. There was a quality beneath her that defied the purity she exuded so well, an insanity that probably started wars in her past lives, one that kept him awake at night and wishing he could claw his way to wherever she had gone.

She caught him in the act, of course, glancing at him pleasantly but curious. Nothing had been explained, it was another meet-up in his hotel hallway that had started innocent but ended up with flames licking the soles of his feet, his back arched in pleasure, her giving him long-awaited salvation. He truly felt fucking saved when it came to her, his soul cleansed from the shadowy doubt and demons. Whether or not she loved him back seemed hazy in its importance, when she crawled up the bed with _that_ look in her eyes.

Harry smiled gently at her, not particularly desiring to explain his thoughts. He stood up, giving her a pat on the shoulder, before turning his head towards the kitchen.

She finally spoke, although through a laugh, “Please put your penis away, dear, it’s morning.” A chastise of enormous irony, considering her absolute _begging_ for it to come out only a few hours ago. Again, Harry didn’t voice his dissent and instead caught the blanket she threw at him from the bed. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was clean, the memories of who used _what_ to clean up _who_ missing from his memory, but he still wrapped it around his waist.

As he poured their coffees, he felt her presence nearby, as if the world centered around the soft padding against the cheap flooring. His shirt was loose around her shoulders; she took one of the cups and turned to the side counter, mixing together the creams and sugars she required to stand the bitterness.

“It’s been a while, since you’ve called,” she mumbled, stirring her coffee. One of her feet went on tip-toe, moving in circles casually as she took a sip, looking at him. “Thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“How could I _ever_ forget about yeh?” he gave her a cheeky grin, washing clean the serious connotation with a sense of charm. Double meanings was a language he could quickly adopt, for fear of revealing just how in love he was with her eyelashes and freckles.

It seemed to work, she merely laughed and put her spoon in the sink.

“Did yeh want breakfast, too?” he offered, drinking from his own cup. The caffeine was doing wonders for his mind, his body finally catching up to speed with his thoughts.

“No, I’ve gotta get going,” she smiled apologetically, motioning to the bedroom to indicate that no, she wasn’t going to leave in Harry’s shirt (like he secretly wanted her to, just _any_ sign that there was something he could work towards).

He nodded wordlessly, continuing to work on his coffee as he heard her shuffle around the room, locating her clothes at various and random spots along the furniture and behind the bed-frame. Harry didn’t want to help her out much, perhaps a passive way of disagreeing with her always-too-soon departures, so he stayed in the kitchen until she emerged with her night bag and _much_ neater hair.

He walked her to the door just as silently, feeling words couldn’t cover the mess of intense lust and longing to hold her. She still radiated beauty, a bashful reproach in her voice as she told him to call again soon.

Before she could fly away though, Harry tapped her chin with his two forefingers, as they stood between the hotel door and the hallway. She was already standing outside, him leaning out the door without planting his bare feet beyond his room’s floor. A grin quickly appeared on his face before he leaned in to kiss her good-bye, cupping one of her cheeks. She obliged, pecking his lips and taking a step back to sling her bag around her shoulder.

Dissatisfaction. All he could feel, drenching his toes and clinging to his eyelids. There was an itch he couldn’t scratch, one only relieved by uncurling the streams of profanities and “Oh _God_ ”s from her lips. But she could never give him any more than that, how could an angel gift a man with her immortality forever? It could only be taken in snapshots of its glory, in Polaroids crumpled in the bottom of his suitcase for broken nights, when he needed to remember how to reconnect with life.

He was only a man, Harry remembered, closing the door and locking it. The sound echoed in his bones. He was only a man, in the presence of an angel. If he could only die basking in the after-glow of a night spent with her, he could possibly find peace.

He went back to bed, curling up against the sheets and ignoring how the stench of sin clung to his nostrils and begged to be acknowledged. He loved her, he loved how quickly she left and how hard he worked to get her back in his arms. He loved her.

And there was nothing he could do about it. It was truly going to be what damned him, in the end.


End file.
